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There’s picking on your siblings, especially your younger sister…and then there’s what Gabriel’s done to me.
My head pounds as I try to focus on the chandeliers and beautiful artwork surrounding us. I once read an article on diversion therapy, and it’s safe to say…
It isn’t fucking working.
I try again, roaming my eyes over the expensive floral arrangement in the center of our table. Only the best for a dinner between our family and the Martínez family. The blending of Chicago’s oldest running crime family and the top cartel in the Midwest isn’t an event to take lightly. Apparently, a room overlooking Lake Michigan, which rents for thousands of dollars an hour, is fitting for one of the last dinners we will have together prior to our wedding.
The thought makes bile rise from my throat and into the back of my mouth. The acidic liquid churns my stomach as I look briefly at Santiago, my fiancé.
He rubs his palms together, looking down at a plate full of the most expensive surf and turf this city has to offer, and I don’t think he’s bothered to even so much as glance in my direction. It’s clear he only wants me for two reasons—to appease Roberto, his father, and to have a woman at his disposal.
I can’t even think about what the Martínez family has up their sleeve, all the ideas they have for me. I’ve heard horror stories from other arranged marriages. Friends I used to have who were married off to suitors and used only for a place for these fuckers to stick their cocks in.
“So, Mr. Martínez,”—my father takes a drink of his liquor—“what can we do for you before these two exchange their nuptials? We’ve got, what?” He looks at his Rolex, pretending like he doesn’t know, down to the damn minute, how much longer we have before the ceremony. “Ten days until Giana becomes a Martínez.”
I briefly glance back to the man I’m so close to marrying.
Santiago. The future leader of The Blood Syndicate Cartel.
Everything about him makes my stomach clench with pure disgust. From the brief conversations I’ve had with him to his pedophile mustache and his greasy black hair…everything about him only signifies just how much I’d rather marry just about anyonebuthim.
Maybe I could even deal with the physical stuff. I’m not a complete asshole, but he’s just an awful person to be around, too. I never feel comfortable in his presence.
Never.
And I can only imagine just how uncomfortable I’ll be once I’m married off and living with him.
Roberto looks directly at my father over his own glass of dark liquor, his beady eyes boring into him as if he just asked him how business is, something the men never discuss in front of us women.
To men like this, women are nothing but toys.
We are to be used and abused and disposed of like the insignificant trash they think we are.
My mind wanders back to the man from the sex club. The one I haven’t stopped thinking about in the past few days. Dante.
The way the touch of his hand on my skin filled me with an intense energy I can’t ignore, let alone forget about. It was only meant to be physical, but after the rooftop and the diner…after the way he was watching me…how he saved me…the way he pleasured me and took care of me…it feels like more.
I need to forget him, need to forget about those amber eyes. His dark-brown hair and his handsome smile. The way his mouth molded to mine in a way I’ve never felt before.
But I can’t. And I’m still determined to get back there again before this wedding. To fully give away what’s rightfully mine to give.
Tochoose.
My pulse quickens, and the same feeling I had just before the man pulled me into the alley washes over me. When I replayed those moments later that night, I assumed it was from the man watching and waiting…but Dante was watching and waiting too.
What if he’s watching me right now? What if he’s seeing me sit at this table with my family—with cartel members? If he knew what was good for him, he’d stay far away from me, but the feeling in my gut is hard to ignore.
I take a deep breath and regain control of my rapid pulse. It’s probably just from the scrutiny I’m under. All of these watchful eyes on me. My father, my brothers, my mother. Roberto and his son.
I’d rather keep on pretending, using my fucked-up coping mechanism and staying in the headspace I’m in while thinking of Dante.
I just hope I can get back.
I hope he’s the first one to take me.
Because I know he wouldn’t disappoint.
Shit.
